Raven Black

Just ghoulish, she thought. Like all the others.

'Any chance of meeting up? Can you get away?' He sounded dead eager and she thought she had him hooked.

He wanted all the details, though really she had nothing more to tell.

She ran through the day's timetable in her head. Nothing important. Lisa would tell them all she was upset.

They'd assume she'd gone home. 'Sure. Why not?'

He met her in his van on the harbour. She had to wait a quarter of an hour for him, with the gulls screeching around her head, and she was suddenly nervous. She thought he wanted more from her than chat and tea. More even than information about the murders. Was she ready for him? She'd made no effort before setting out that morning, hadn't even been in the shower because the talk about Tait had made her late. She saw herself as he would see her – a slightly scruffy schoolgirl, a bit overweight, with a bag full of books.

When she got in beside him, he put his hand on the back of her neck, pulled her gently towards him and kissed her. She sensed something different about him. Relief. Perhaps that was what all the people who'd been touched by the drama were feeling. Not just relief because a murderer had been locked up, but because it would stop the police prying into their lives. They all had secrets. Mr Scott, Robert. Perhaps even her parents. Now the policeman from Fair Isle would leave them alone.

He drove north without speaking. She stroked the fair hairs on his wrist and he played with her hand, rubbing her palm with his thumb. She wanted him to kiss her again, but was too shy to ask, and anyway there was an excitement in waiting.

'Where are we going?'

. 'I thought we'd go to Wandering Spirit. Would you be interested in seeing her?'

His boat was moored in Whalsay. That meant getting the roll-on roll-off ferry to the island. She tried to think if she knew anyone who worked on the ferry who might tell her parents, but Robert seemed so keen that she had to go along with it.

They were at the front of the queue for the ferry and sat in the van on the quay holding hands watching it approach, squat and flat-bottomed and pitching forward with each wave. There were a couple of trucks and just one other van. They sat in the lounge for the crossing. Robert bought her coffee from the machine. He knew the man in the other van, who was sitting there too, but he didn't introduce her. While the two men were chatting about fish and some party there'd been at one of the bars on Whalsay, she looked out of the window and watched the island getting closer. She couldn't remember if she'd been there before. Not for years certainly.

The boat was just as grand as everyone said it was, gleaming white and bristling with aerials and radar masts, much bigger than she'd imagined. Robert was very proud of it. You could tell how much it meant to him. It wasn't just a way of making a living. It defined him. It was who he was. When Sally thought that, she decided it was something Catherine might have said, and that made her proud too.

He took her below and showed her the room where the crew sat when they weren't working. It had leather seats and a big television. There was a fridge. He took out a couple of tins of beer and offered one to her. She took it. She could feel the movement of the boat under her. It sat low in the water and the grey sea was very close through the glass. The horizon tilted, a regular, mesmeric beat.

'Did you fancy Catherine?' she asked suddenly. 'I mean I can understand why you would. She was stunning to look at!

'No,' he said. 'Honestly? I wouldn't have wished that sort of death on her. Of course not. But I thought she was a stuck-up cow. All that stuff about films and art. All that talking!

'Will you take me to one of the parties at the Haa one day?'

'I didn't take her,' he said quickly. 'She was there.

We were chatting. That was all!

'But will you take me?'

'Aye, why not?'

She'd drunk _the lager quickly and it was stronger than she was used to. The movement of the boat disorientated her.

He fetched her another can. They talked. About his work, his family. Later she would remember him describing his mother. People don't understand her. It's all Hunter's fault. She's so soft she can't say no to him. And his father, though that wasn't like hearing about a real man.

More like some hero you'd read about in a book. But her mind wasn't engaged. She was aware of her body under her clothes, her tongue against her teeth, the skin of her feet against the undersole in her trainers. Everything held in, tied up. She bent down and unlaced the shoes. She kicked one off and prised off the other by pushing down its heel with her foot. She pulled off her socks and rolled them into a ball. There was a carpet on the floor with a rough texture, almost as hard as coconut matting. She flexed her feet against it. Robert, who had still been talking, about a gale which had blown up out of nothing when they were off Stavanger, fell silent. 'Sorry,' she said. 'It's a bit hot in here!

He bent down and took a foot in his hand, twisting her body as he did, so she was almost lying along the bench seat. He rubbed the sole of her foot with his thumb, as he had been playing with her hand in the car. She thought she might faint.

Later, she thought, Is this how it is for everyone? Is it the same for old people? She wondered about her father and mother, if they did occasionally get it together. Part of her thought it might be better for them, not so hurried and scrabbled. Her father would be more patient. Not quite so rough or demanding. But she dismissed that idea as disloyal and ridiculous. What could she expect for her first time? Robert was lying back and smoking a cigarette.

Now she would have liked him to speak, but he seemed lost somehow in his own thoughts. Perhaps all men were like that afterwards. She would have liked to ask, Was that all right? Did I do the right things? But she knew it was wiser to stay quiet.

At last she said, 'I should go back or I'll miss the bus! She had plenty of time but she was starving. Now she wasn't dreaming of sex, but Kit-Kats and crisps, maybe a bacon sandwich.

He roused himself slowly and she saw again what she'd found attractive in him. She watched his broad shoulders and the muscles in his arms and his back. It hadn't been a big mistake after all. In the lounge on the ferry she found herself smiling. He sat next to her with his wide hand on her leg and when he dropped her off at the school he kissed her. They still hadn't discussed what had happened.

It was too early for school to finish and she went to the shop on the corner and bought chocolate and a magazine. She turned straight to the problem page, but none of the letters there could help her.

On the bus on the way home her phone rang. She answered it immediately, certain that it would be Robert. He would say something sweet and reassuring. He would tell her how much he'd enjoyed being with her. But it was a woman's voice, unfamiliar at first.

'Sally? Is that you? Your mother gave me your number. I'm so sorry to disturb you. This is Fran Hunter. You know, from the house by the chapel!

Duncan Hunter's ex-wife, she wanted to say. But of course she didn't. How rude that would be!

'I wondered if you'd be able to babysit. I've been asked to teach a couple of evening classes at the college. The teacher's going to be off sick for a few weeks. Maybe you'd feel awkward, because Catherine used to… But your mother said to ask anyway..! The voice tailed off.

'No; Sally said quickly. 'Really, I'd be pleased to!

She was thinking it would be one way to meet Robert without her mother knowing. Risky, but better than being out in Lerwick with him. 'Any time!

Chapter Thirty